Who the Hell is Bucky?
by chibiMuffin999
Summary: Just who the hell IS Bucky Barnes? Bucky from the time he meets Steve as a kid, all the way through becoming the Winter Soldier. (T for occasional swearing.) Non-slash.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's note: I haven't really read the Captain America comics, so I have just a passing familiarity with these characters outside of the movie-verse. No griping if it doesn't match the comics canon. Kthnx :)**_

* * *

There was a skinny, sandy-haired kid sitting on the curb. His shirt was torn and dirty, and one bright-blue eye was slowly swelling shut. Skinned knees oozed smudges of blood into a layer of ingrained dirt. One shoe was conspicuously absent.

The boy's nose was oddly out of proportion - too big for his thin, angular face - and it had clearly seen the wrong end of a fight. The kid's lip was split and trembling. He was a mess. One thing he wasn't, however… was crying.

* * *

James Barnes was big for his age. He was slowly growing into his handsome face and sturdy limbs, and though he'd turned 8 years old only a few days earlier, he was already cock-sure and headstrong.

Nobody around here ever tried to rough him up. His parents weren't rich, but they weren't the broke sad-sacks that drifted around this neighborhood, either. The police didn't bother much with the rougher bits of Brooklyn; but a clean kid from a nice family getting jumped would certainly bring them down. The neighborhood boys avoided him. Too much trouble.

James felt bad for the little guys. There was always some unlucky kid who had smarted off to the wrong guy getting creamed around here. This was the littlest one he'd ever come across, though - didn't look more than 4 or 5 years old at best. Way too young to be getting kicked around like this.

* * *

"Who was it?" He asked, sitting down next to the kid. He fished a faded red-paisley handkerchief out of his pocket, the one that his mother made him carry, and handed it over. The boy took it hesitantly, glancing askance before pressing it gingery to his bloody lip.

"Doesn't matter." The kid muttered. "...Thanks for this." He held up the blood-soaked fabric for a moment before returning it to his face. "Don't know if you're gonna want it back though…" He wheezed a little when he talked, as if breathing were a chore that he just wasn't quite up to.

"It matters." James told him firmly. "Tell me who it was. I'll teach 'em to pick on somebody their own size. Jerks that pick on little kids gotta answer to somebody. Might as well be me."

The kid started to answer, then coughed, a jagged ugly sound. He took a second to catch his breath, though it still rattled in his scrawny chest.

"I can take care of myself."

James had to admire the stubborn little punk. This kid sure thought he was a tough guy… all 3 foot nothin' of him.

"Sure you can, kid. Sure. Can't hurt to get a little help, though, right? Name's James Barnes. My folks call me Bucky. You can too, if you want."

"Bucky? What the heck kinda name is Bucky?" The kid stared at him incredulously.

"It's a nickname, stupid. Short for Buchannan. That was my grandad's name. Who're you?"

"Steve Rogers. I don't have a nickname."

"Ok, Steve, so who was it?" James circled back around to the point.

"Look, it doesn't matter, Bucky, ok? Just some jerk. Said some stuff about my mom he shouldn't have and I set him straight."

"Bigger than you?"

"Yeah… I got him good in the shins though."

Bucky whistled through his teeth.

"Rogers, you're one crazy little bastard, you know that? You don't pick fights with guys bigger than you or you get creamed. Even if he was askin' for it."

"I said I can take care of myself." The stained handkerchief was stiffly returned to him. The kid was wobbling to his feet to leave.

"Hey, hey, take it easy." James stopped him, his broad warm hand on Steve's little pallid shoulder. The boy nearly tipped over with the weight of it. "I didn't say you can't take care of yourself. Just pick your battles, kid. ...Tell you what." He was feeling generous today. "I'll walk you back to your folks' house, make sure nobody bothers ya, ok?"

"...Yeah. Yeah, ok. … Thanks Bucky."

"No problem, kid. … How old are you, anyway? Like 5?"

The kid turned to him with that same incredulous face and James resisted the urge to crack a grin. It was a funny sight.

"I'm 7 and a half. What are you, blind?"

"Nah. Just old." Bucky replied casually, tossing an arm around his new friend "Can't tell the difference anymore. Happens when you're 8, just wait."

"It does not!" Steve fell into a scurrying step beside him, trying to match Bucky's longer stride. Bucky slowed down to let him catch up.

"Sure it does. All downhill from there, Rogers. Next thing you lose your teeth."

"Liar."

"Punk."

"... Do you really lose your teeth?"


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky was worried. Steve was sick. Had been for days, and he looked like hell.

Rogers was always sick in some way or other. The tenacious little squirt just refused to let it stop him until his body gave up and crapped out.

Normally Steve just suddenly stopped showing up to meet him after school, and Bucky would understand why. This time, Bucky had actually seen the asthma attack in action, and it had scared the hell out of him.

Steve's frail chest had started to spasm as they were walking home, and he'd instinctively grabbed onto Bucky's sleeve for support, doubling over with a painful sounding wheeze. Bucky had panicked. Steve's face was turning red, then slightly blue, and he had no idea what he was supposed to do. Fortunately Steve's house wasn't far, so he'd scooped his friend up, unnervingly fragile and light, and sprinted the rest of the distance, with Steve slowly passing out in his arms.

If Steve's mother hadn't had the medicine handy, he wasn't sure what would've happened.

* * *

Steve was pale and quiet under a worn out quilt when he arrived. His breath still rasped harshly in his lungs, and he looked feverish. Bucky pulled up a wooden chair and sat beside him.

"Hey Rogers."

"... Hey… Buck…." Steve rasped, reaching out one skinny arm for him. Bucky pushed it firmly back under the covers.

"Stay warm, numbskull. You wanna get worse?"

"...No." Steve answered honestly. He still looked tiny and fragile and miserable, just like the day they'd met, though he was nearly 11 now.

"Then sit tight." His hair was too long, Bucky noted, and poked out in dirty blonde spikes around his head. It gave him a manic look. "You thirsty? Your mom gave me some water for you."

He helped his friend to sit, carefully arranging a spare blanket he'd brought from home over Steve's spindly shoulders before handing him the glass. It wasn't much, but Steve needed every bit of help he could get.

The kid took his time, slowly sipping the water down, so he wouldn't cough and wretch it all back up.

Bucky put his feet up on the bed and watched him drink.

He couldn't quite say why he felt so protective when it came to Steve. Maybe it was that Steve was so fragile - so easily felled by his own bad health. Maybe it was his friend's short scrawny stature that did it.

Maybe it was that stupid stubborn streak that kept getting the kid into fights he couldn't win; leaving him with a new bruise or a black-eye just about every week. Bucky was losing count of the number of times he'd come upon Steve getting the stuffing knocked out of him by bigger, older boys, and he'd had to intervene.

… Hell, maybe it was just the stubborn little twit's tough-as-nails determination that he'd still grow up to be a soldier one day - just like his dad had been. Whatever it was, Bucky hated to see his best friend suffer. Steve deserved a lot better than this…

He'd do what he had to do to keep Steve safe and well from now on - no matter what, Bucky decided on the spot. Steve Rogers needed a protector, and dammit he was going to have one.


	3. Chapter 3

"You should ask Louise Morton." Bucky advised, leaning against Steve's locker with practiced ease. He grinned at a pretty red-headed girl who had invited him to eat lunch with her the other day, and she turned pink before scuttling away with her friends.

"You shouldn't flirt with her like that if you're not going to take her to the dance." Steve scolded absently.

"Never mind her, we're talking about you and Louise."

"Buck, I'm the class nobody." Steve's serious pale eyes appeared around the edge of the locker door. "She's not gonna want to go with me."

"Sure she is. Nobody else is askin' her, why wouldn't she want to go with an upright guy like you?"

"Because she's taller than me? Because she'll never hear the end of it if she has to settle for Shrimp-puff Rogers?"

"Hey, who's still calling you that? I thought I put a stop to the Shrimp-puff crap."

"Doesn't matter." Steve stuffed his notebook and a worn out library book under his arm. "I'm not gonna ask Louise, because she's gonna say no."

"Gotta seize the dame, Steve."

"You're a creep, Buck."

"Seriously, though, who's hasselin' you?"

"Let it go, Bucky. And quit worrying about me. I can handle things for myself."

"Sure, sure." Bucky soothed. He pushed off of the locker and followed Steve down the hall, hands in his pockets. If Steve wouldn't tell him, he'd just have to ask around and find out on his own. He'd cracked some heads before and charmed his way out of detention. He could probably do it again.


	4. Chapter 4

They went to the enlistment office together. Bucky didn't much care about being a soldier one way or the other, but he wasn't about to let Steve do this alone.

It was something respectable to do, anyway, he supposed. Might as well sign up before your number gets called.

He probably should have seen it coming. Of course he should've.

* * *

Steve stared at the blotchy stamped _**4F**_ dejectedly, before crumpling the form in his hand. The laundry-list of medical ailments really was impressive when you saw it written out. He kicked a dented old trashcan as they passed and stubbed his toe.

"They can't do this to me."

"Don't take it personal, kid. You don't have to be a grunt. Maybe you can be a…. I dunno, a desk clerk or something."

Bucky kept his card folded up in his jacket pocket. He didn't really want to look at it, though he knew exactly what it said.

"I don't want to be a _clerk_, Buck. I _want_ to serve my country."

"It's all servin'." Bucky shrugged.

Steve wasn't impressed.

"It's hiding, that's what it is. I can't sit around New York, safe and sound, while guys are out there dying. It's… it's not right. It's not _fair_."

Bucky kindly refrained from reminding him that he was hardly 'safe and sound', even in Brooklyn. Steve had nearly gotten a beating just that morning, before Bucky had come along and the creeps had run off.

"Hey, everybody's gotta help somehow. You should be glad you don't have to do it on the front-line, Rogers."

"Easy for you to say, they made you an _officer._" Steve muttered bitterly. The way he said it almost made it sound like this was a personal affront to Steve Rogers and all that he stood for.

"Hey, kid, I didn't ask to get promoted. It just happened. Besides, this was your idea, remember?"

"Yeah…" Steve deflated a little, hanging his head. Bucky patted him on the back, trying to be comforting. "Yeah, I know. Glad at least one of us got in…"

"Yeah." Bucky agreed. _And thank god it was me._ He hadn't much liked the idea of Steve getting shot at and it was a weight off his mind to know he didn't have to worry now.

He should've known better. Of course he should have.

* * *

"Get another one?" Bucky didn't look up from his comic book as Steve stomped into his bedroom and flopped down into a chair. His little scarecrow legs stuck out like straws in front of him.

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"Where were you from this time? Idaho?"

"I _said_ I don't wanna talk about it." Steve slumped further, tossing a crumpled enlistment card at his friend's head. Bucky chose to ignore it. The smudged "F" was visible in one corner.

"Rogers, you're gonna get arrested."

"I am not. I just want to serve, how is that a crime?"

"Because it's _illegal_, stupid. You're only allowed to sign up once, and you're sure as hell not allowed to lie on the form."

"I'm not lying… I'm… ok, fine I'm lying. But it's for a good reason."

"Steve. C'mon. You aren't gonna get in. ...I know you just wanna help, pal, but this is getting stupid. One of these days you're gonna get caught."

"I don't care." Steve grumbled, pulling his knees up to his chin and folding himself impossibly small into the chair.

"Well I do." Bucky finally laid down the comic and looked him in the eye. "I gotta ship out eventually, Steve. I wanna know you're safe when I do, not locked up in god-knows-what hellhole because you couldn't take a fuckin' hint!"

Steve had the decency to look both embarrassed and a bit touched. He muttered something that sounded like assent.

Bucky should've known better.


	5. Chapter 5

He heard the crash of a scrawny body colliding with metal trash-cans long before he rounded the corner. He sighed, straightening his uniform cap, and waded in.

_Goddammit Steve._

* * *

Bucky had been looking for Steve all afternoon. Last minute orders had come through that morning. He was going to be a sniper for the army, somewhere in England. The 107th was shipping out tomorrow.

_24-hours. Be ready to report._

He was going to war.

* * *

Bucky had been planning to wait for the show to let out; maybe take Steve to get a burger or something - break it to him gently that he was getting left behind.

There were two pretty girls meeting them at the Stark Expo later on for a double-date, so they could have some fun on his last night in town. It would be a proper send-off celebration, and he'd been talking Steve up to the blonde one all morning.

_He's a great guy, you're gonna love him. Real smart, heart'a gold._

_Is he cute?_ Lorraine, the blonde, had wanted to know.

How should he know?_ Sure, I guess?_

_Is he tall?_

… _Not quite as tall as me. _ Bucky evaded. Dames tended to back out when he was too straightforward about his friend's… less than athletic stature.

_He a sergeant too?_

_What, Steve? Nah, they needed him here, holding down the fort. _

_He must be real important._

_Sure he is. Neighborhood'd fall apart without ol' Steve._

* * *

When he'd heard the familiar sounds of a scuffle coming from the alley behind the theater, though; he'd resigned himself to breaking up yet another one of Steve's ill-advised fights, instead.

Predictably, he could see the overgrown creep in a cheap blazer, bruising his knuckles on Steve's bony face at the end of the alley. Braced like a sad excuse for a boxer, Steve was already bloodied and filthy. He didn't show any signs of backing down.

Steve went down and stayed down just as Bucky reached them.

Bucky was furious. He hauled the jerk back by the shoulder and spun him around, giving him a hard shove back down the alley.

"Hey! Pick on somebody your own size." He snarled, disgusted. His eyes were cold and steady and he was itching for an excuse to put some of that basic training to use.

Bucky hated bullies. Hated the overgrown creeps that would never leave the little guy with the big mouth alone. Hated that Steve always seemed to find them. Hated that he'd have to leave this dumb kid on his own against the world in a matter of hours.

Fortunately, the bully was stupid. He took a swing, and Bucky socked him, hard. He kicked him in the rear for good measure, just to add insult to injury.

He was tempted to really lay into the guy and rough him up until he was just as battered as Steve... but he was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to be getting into street-brawls in uniform.

He let it go when the bully fled. Steve was a mess. He decided he was a lot more worried about that.

* * *

"Sometimes… I think you_ like_ getting punched." Bucky sighed, picking up Steve's dropped enlistment papers as the blonde scarecrow picked himself up out of the garbage.

Steve hated having to be rescued. Hated that for all his best intentions, he still couldn't hold his own in a fight. This made the third time in a week Bucky had had to come in after him, and he _hated_ it.

"I had him on the ropes." Steve muttered

He gingerly tested a busted lip against the back of his skinny hand, yanking it away at the sting.

"How many times is this?" Bucky chose to pretend he hadn't heard, glancing over the form. He was unsurprised to see it was almost identical to every other version of it he'd seen. Almost. "Oh, you're from Paramus now?" He raised an eyebrow.

It was pointless, but he had to say it anyway. Had to try to get through to stubborn, brave, well intentioned, stupid – _stupid -_ Steve.

"You know it's illegal to lie on the enlistment form. … And seriously, _Jersey_?" He was almost disappointed. He'd half expected him to be Steve from California by now.

Steve glanced up and paused, whatever he'd been about to say dying on his lips. His eyes travelled up and down the khaki uniform and his expression shifted just enough that it was clear he'd put two and two together.

"... You get your orders?" Steve had never been very good at faking 'casual'. That he was crushed was written in the sudden slight sag in his shoulders, the way he forgot to brush slimy old coffee-grounds off of his shirt.

Bucky tried to smile. He wasn't sure it was working.

"107th… Sergeant James Barnes, shipping out for England, first thing in the morning."

Steve looked away.

"I should be going…" He said quietly.

When he looked up again, Bucky met his eyes in silence: a mutual unspoken moment of understanding.

_I don't want to go. _

_I want to go with you._

_I don't want to leave you alone._

_I don't want to be left alone._

_Be careful._

_You too._

Bucky broke the silence first, pushing his usual charming smile back on as he threw an arm around Steve's bony shoulders; guiding him out of the alley with all the good cheer he could muster.

"C'mon! It's my last night." He pulled back at the smell radiating off of his friend, and the feel of something cold and sticky wiping off onto his hand from the kid's filthy jacket. "Gotta get you cleaned up."

"Why? Where're we going?"

With a flourish, Bucky shoved a flier at him, a huge photo of the Stark Expo grounds featured front and center on it.

"The future."


	6. Chapter 6

Bucky eased down beside the camp-fire with a pained grunt. He was still sore from whatever they'd done to him in that lab. Sprinting through an exploding warehouse on jelly-legs and with a headache the size of New York hadn't helped. He'd be having nightmares about Nazis ripping their faces off and leering red skulls for a while, that was for sure.

They'd regrouped and counted heads just outside what was left of the compound a few hours ago. Then they'd started walking. It was slow going, with so many wounded and starved soldiers to look after, but it was progress. Still… they had a long way yet to go.

"You ok?" Steve's pale eyes were on him. He had that sad, _I don't know what to do for you_ look. The same one he'd had when Bucky had resurfaced from the haze of pain and nothingness of the lab. It made him uncomfortable, so he waved it off. Besides, he honestly didn't know the answer to that…

"I leave you alone for couple'a months, and you turn into _Superman_…" Bucky deflected; wincing as he knocked back a shot of... whatever was in the dented steel flask someone had given him. Word had apparently gotten around of where he'd been found and everyone was treating him very, very carefully. Little gifts of candy, smuggled in from care-packages, and a flask of something strong and amber-colored had been collected for him. Nobody had come back from that lab alive until Bucky.

"I'm not Superman." Steve shifted uncomfortably.

He was apparently still not totally sure what to do with all of himself, now that there was so much of it. He normally faded into the spaces between; too small to notice. Now he was pretty hard to miss.

"I'm 'Captain America'."

Bucky snorted, almost choking.

"-Don't you dare laugh," Steve flushed, looking mortified. "I didn't come up with it!"

Bucky snickered behind the flask, coughing and taking another long gulp from it.

"-To be honest...up until today, I was a glorified show-girl…."

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him. "Whatever you say, kid. ...Not sure I want to see your can-can outfit. I'm just glad you showed up."

The liquor wasn't warming him the way he'd hoped. Maybe it was shock, or maybe the ground was just too damned cold through what remained of his fatigues. He leaned back against a tree, long since fallen and dead, trying to get comfortable.

Steve looked away.

"About that…. I might be in some trouble when we get back...I'm ...not technically supposed to be here at all."

"Wait… What?" Bucky's head snapped up. "..._You went AWOL_?!" This was serious. Steve was definitely going to be in for it now.

"Well… not exactly… I guess? Maybe?... It's complicated. _Technically _I'm only _sort of_ a soldier so… I don't know? I was just supposed to entertain the troops, not… y'know… go rescue them." He finished lamely.

"God… Steve…"

He probably shouldn't've have been surprised that Steve, even the enormous, Greek-god version of him, just couldn't stay out of trouble. Crossing the US military was not quite on the same level as smart-mouthing the local roughs. He just wasn't so sure Steve understood the distinction.

"Not that I'm not _really really_ glad to see ya, pal, but… oh man…"

"Yeah... I know." Steve hung his head, thick arms braced against his knees. It was clear he wasn't sorry... but he was worried. "I heard '107th, killed or captured' and I just, kinda… reacted.

They didn't think they'd be able to get in here without losing more guys than they'd save, so they weren't going to do anything…

But, I couldn't…. I mean, there was a chance I could still find you, maybe get you out ...I had to do something."

Bucky was tired and the scared-little kid still lurking in Steve's voice, coming out of that huge body… it just made his head hurt. He couldn't wrap his brain around how he was going to get his friend out of this one, but he'd always managed before. He'd figure something out when he didn't feel so much like _passing_ out.

He lurched awkwardly into a crouch with groan, waving away Steve's arm when the kid tried to help him up. He stretched his hands out over the fire.

"Y'know, for a while I used to think you were just a dumb little twerp, always picking fights with the big kids." Bucky remarked, eyes on the shifting light of the fire. "Never wanted to just back down and let it lie… After a while I thought, 'Nah, kid's not stupid. He's just got something to prove, that's all it is.' Now..." He raised his eyes with a faint smile. "Now, I think you're probably the bravest - _stupidest -_ but definitely bravest, guy I ever met." Steve smiled shyly back. He still really wasn't used to praise.

"...I'm not so sure about this Captain America guy…" Bucky blew on his hands and rubbed them together. "But Steve Rogers? I like him alright."

Bucky shifted again, moving his weight from foot to foot. He couldn't seem to get warm enough and his head was pounding. He had so many needle holes in him and bruises on him, that there just didn't appear to _be_ a way to get comfortable.

Everything was tender and sore, and he was _freezing_.

"Here." Steve tossed him the tattered up leather bomber jacket that he'd been wearing during the rescue. Bucky wanted to argue, but Steve barely seemed to notice the difference, despite the chill in the air. He didn't even shiver.

The top half of his obnoxious star-spangled uniform was clearly visible now, and it looked deeply out of place on the muscle-bound giant, who stood stirring up a camp-fire in the middle of German nowhere.

"What about you?" Bucky asked, shrugging gratefully into the battered leather and ignoring the burns and rips in it. He'd never been slight, but now he felt downright small. Steve's jacket was enormous. "Tights aren't exactly warm and toasty, I'm guessing."

"Side effect, I think." Steve shrugged. "I don't get cold like I used to."

"Must be nice." Bucky muttered, huddling into the jacket and pulling the collar up around his face. He pushed his feet as close to the fire as he dared. If he didn't know better, he'd almost have said the ice was in his veins instead of under his feet, and he didn't like the feeling one bit.


	7. Chapter 7

Steve intentionally slowed his pace as they approached the camp.

Bucky had long ago returned the leather jacket to him, though it was more ratty scraps than anything at this point. The recovering lab-rat still shivered through the cold nights whenever they were able to rest, but old habits die hard.

Steve needed to cover up that stupid costume or he'd be a walking target. Nobody knew if he was bullet-proof, not even Steve himself, and Bucky didn't really want to find out by tempting fate. He'd just deal with being cold, thank you very much.

Everyone formed loose ranks. They'd been through hell the last few weeks: marching through damp and cold, dodging (and occasionally finishing_)_ fire-fights, and going for days without food - once their salvaged rations were gone. Everyone was foot-sore and exhausted, and several were badly wounded, but there was unspoken agreement amongst them. In the end they were soldiers and they would arrive like soldiers: heads held high.

Bucky walked just to Steve's left, determined and quiet. He tried to return the reassuring smile Steve gave him, but he couldn't quite manage it. That he still felt god-awful, cold, and sick was his own well-kept secret. It didn't matter much. He'd rest, he'd recover, and he'd be fine.

It was Steve he was worried about.

Steve really shouldn't be here at all. This wasn't a bad neighborhood, it was a goddamn war-zone. He might have become a superhero somewhere between the Expo and the HYDRA base, but as far as Bucky was concerned, he was still just a naive kid from New York City who has no business throwing himself into danger like this. Steve was going to get himself killed… IF he didn't get court-martialed and tossed into a stockade for the rest of his life first...


	8. Chapter 8

Steve, as usual, got right to the point.

"Some of these men need medical attention." He announced with a crisp salute to the grizzled colonel who had come out to meet them, clearly the senior officer of the camp. The weary caravan came to a halt. The colonel raised an eyebrow, but otherwise gave no reaction.

Without waiting for orders, medics began dispersing into the crowd of returning commandos, seeking out the wounded.

Steve took a deep breath. Bucky braced himself. He wasn't really looking forward to getting court-martialed - especially after the shit-storm he'd just survived - but if he had to step in… Well he'd do what he had to do.

"I'd like to surrender myself for disciplinary action."

The colonel looked Steve Rogers up and down, then glanced at the returning men behind him - weary and battered, but alive. That they were fully behind Captain America, both literally and metaphorically, was plain.

Colonel Phillips was a stoic man, for all his sarcasm; but Bucky got the briefest impression he'd be throwing his hands up in defeat, if he were the type for it.

"That won't be necessary…" The colonel informed them with brittle dignity. He turned, pausing to address a gorgeous brunette that was eyeing Steve, a smug smile on her face.

"Faith, huh?"

She smirked just a bit in reply.

The colonel stalked off with the air of someone who's salvaged what authority they can from a situation, and has decided to call a strategic retreat. Bucky breathed a sigh of relief.

"Hey!" He barked. Every head in the camp turned to them. "Let's hear it for Captain America!" He flashed a proud grin at Steve, who looked bewildered by the attention, as the soldiers around them burst into raucous cheers.

Bucky let the crowd push him as they swarmed in to congratulate the Captain. His smile was gone.

_Steve... what have you gotten yourself into? You're a hero... but you're still just a kid._

_I can't protect you out here... Those guys don't want your lunch money, they want you __**dead**_… _Don't you get that? Why couldn't you just stay in New York where it was safe?_

He felt a little like he was about to be sick. The throng pushed him back and he let them, the world reeling a bit around him. He'd hate to ruin Steve's first big moment in the sun by vomiting on his shoes...

A medic noticed him turning green and he was soon quietly herded away with the other wounded, leaving Steve to enjoy his moment alone.


	9. Chapter 9

Bucky had been under supervisory care since the former prisoners' dramatic return two and a half weeks ago. He was beginning to think he'd have preferred fighting his way through another 30 miles over the boredom.

The low-burning fever he'd been nursing all the way back to camp had passed, but the doctors still wouldn't let him leave. Now he had little to do but sit around all day, either reading or sleeping. Steve hadn't even been allowed to visit since the first day.

He hadn't really been expecting anyone, or he'd have put on some pants…

* * *

"Sergeant Barnes! I understand you had a little adventure of your own out there. Care to tell me about that?"

The colonel was pulling up a chair beside his bunk. Bucky snapped upright, dropping the comic book that he'd been reading beside the bed, and saluted.

He yanked a blanket up over his shorts and tried to look respectable.

"At ease son." The colonel waved the salute away. "I just want to know exactly what we're dealing with, here. Rogers has informed us that you have in some way been experimented upon by enemy scientists. I need to know the what, the when, and the how."

"Sir... I have no idea what they did to me." The words were out of his mouth before he realized that admitting to memory loss was probably not the best way to prove he was fit to return to duty.

"Sargeant, you were held prisoner by HYDRA forces for somewhere on the order of 6 weeks before that base was destroyed. You spent at least half that time separated from the other prisoners, presumably in the lab where you were discovered by Captain Rogers. What happened to you in there?"

"I'm sorry sir, honestly… but I don't remember anything. I just know that it hurt… a lot."

The colonel looked tired.

"You know you're the only one they took that came back alive?"

"Yes sir. That's mostly because of Ste- 'Captain America'. I don't know what would'a happened if he hadn't gotten us out."

He hadn't really intended that to sound quite as bitter as it had…

"Look… Barnes." Colonel Phillips leaned forward. "Do you know why you're still here?" He gestured to the med tent around them.

"No sir."

"You're here because until I know what you've got floating around in _there_," he poked a finger at Bucky's chest. "I can't safely let you walk around my base. God only knows what kind of diseases you might spread."

He sat back, hands folded in his lap, and sighed.

"I had your blood tested as soon as we debriefed Rogers." He said solemnly. "Wish I had some better news for you, but for now the best I can offer you is you're probably not gonna die anytime soon.

Looks like you got some bastard version of Rogers' super-soldier formula. …The unstable, possibly deadly version.

Now, we're not sure what it's gonna do, or _if_ it's gonna anything at all. Dr. Haywood thinks there were probably more steps involved before anything was actually supposed to happen, which makes you damned lucky that those steps didn't happen.

He... also speculates that you are not the first. You probably don't wanna know what happened to the guy who was."

"Yes sir..." He really,_ really_ didn't.

"For the time being, as far as we know, you're fine. As long as that continues to be the case, we can all just pretend this was a real bad dream and get on with winning this war.

But anything changes - you so much as sniffle- I wanna know about it.

"Yes sir! … Does uh… Captain Rogers know about all this?"

"No." The colonel informed him bluntly. "And I want it to stay that way. Captain Rogers needs to stay focused on stopping Schmidt. He gets real, real stupid where you're concerned, Barnes, and I need him smart. Understand?"

"Yes sir. So… what happens now?"

"Now? Now you get your ass out of that bed and get dressed, soldier. There's a war on, and if you're not gonna keel over and die today, I need you in it."

_Finally._

"Sir, yes sir!"


	10. Chapter 10

"See? Told ya. They're a-aall idiots." Bucky smirked. He didn't need to ask how it had gone. He'd already known the commandos would fall in line. Steve tended to affect people that way, once they started paying attention to him. He'd recommended these five in particular because they were tough, smart, good at what they did... and just crazy enough to be willing.

"So how 'bout you?" Steve settled down on the barstool next to him, his voice quiet and a little uncertain.

Bucky knew Steve didn't think he had any right to ask after everything that had happened - but as much as Steve was used to having Bucky at his back, Bucky was used to being there. He really didn't think there was much to talk about.

"You ready to follow _Captain America_ into the jaws of death?"

Steve seemed to be bracing for a no-

"Hell no."

Steve's face fell just a bit.

- and in all honesty, if it had been anyone else, Bucky would've turned them down.

"That little guy from Brooklyn?" He turned to Steve with a thin smile, cradling a glass between two fingers. "The one that was too dumb not to run away from a fight? ...I'm followin' him." He took a sip of his drink, sad that it was probably going to take a whole lot more of these from now on to forget about the things he'd seen. _Can't win 'em all._

He grinned over the top of his glass. "You're keeping the outfit, though, right?"

Steve chuckled, glancing behind them at a cornball promotional poster.

"Y'know what? … It's kinda growing on me."


	11. Chapter 11

"You got caught kissing some other girl?!" Bucky stared at him open mouthed. "With a woman like _that_, and you're messin' around?!"

"Well not caught… and I wasn't kissing her… I mean, I was, but… she kissed me first, and I didn't-"

"Steve, did I teach you nothing about women? Nothing at all? One at a time, kid! You never two-time on a lady, 'cause then they do things like _try to shoot you in the goddamn face_!"

"I didn't mean to!" Steve blurted out, turning bright red. He was way out of his depth.

"Ugh... Steve!" Bucky buried his face in his hands. "You're hopeless."

"You think Peggy's still gonna be mad?"

"She shot you." Bucky deadpanned.

"_At_ me…"

"...Yeah, I think she's probably mad."


	12. Chapter 12

Steve's not bulletproof, it turns out.

It's a flesh wound, and it heals up faster than it should, but it's also a reality check.

Bucky sits beside him, his face whiter than Steve's, doing his best to keep his friend's mind off the messy bullet extraction that going on just above Steve's hip.

Anesthesia isn't an option. It keeps wearing off every couple of minutes, and after trying several times to re-administer, it's just easier in the end for Steve to grit his teeth, take the pain, and get it over with. Bucky keeps a tight grip on Steve's hand, which is squeezing his fingers so hard he's surprised they don't break, and keeps talking. Steve doesn't reply, but he nods every now and then to show he's listening, around hisses of pain and muttered swears.

They'd gotten careless with scouting. The Commandos had gotten so used to Steve barely breaking a sweat in battle that they'd almost started to think he was invulnerable.

An enemy marksman had been lucky and gotten his shot off before Bucky noticed him. The enemy had been a poor shot, fortunately.

Bucky hadn't.

After that, he watches Steve's back like a hawk. He practices until he can have his rifle out, ready, and loaded in half his normal time; and he never lets the Captain out of his sight for long. He's not about to lose his best friend out here. When this is over, they're both going home.


	13. Chapter 13

"I had him on the ropes."

"I know you did."

Bucky was more out of breath than he cared to admit. That had been way too close: HYDRA's goons were getting tougher, and they were getting faster. This one had nearly taken him out and there were bound to be more. Apparently Zola had been expecting trouble…

A distinctive electronic whine sounded behind him. _Son of a-_

"Get down!"

Steve shoved him back, throwing up the shield in front of them just in time to block one hell of an energy blast. The side of the car exploded with blue light, sending both of them sprawling. Bucky recovered first.

Steve was still stunned, slowly coming around where he'd been thrown against the far wall. There was an impressive dent in the metal that Bucky guessed had come from the Captain's chipped blue helmet. Steve was in trouble.

The shield lay by Bucky's feet where it had fallen, several yards out of the Captain's reach, and the weapon was warming up for another shot. There was no way Steve would be able to dodge in time.

They only had a few seconds - time to make them count.

Bucky dove for the cover of the shield, coming up shooting. Bullets that should've dropped the enemy several times over pinged off like thrown pebbles: this goon's armor was bullet-proof. He'd gotten their attention though.

The weapon leveled at him and fired.

He bounced hard against the wall, as the force blasted him backward and out the gaping hole in the side of the car. He managed to catch hold of a metal railing, but it was thin, and the explosion had weakened the bolts. It creaked dangerously beneath his hand as the wind whipped into his face, almost like it was trying to push him off.

"Bucky!"

Steve's head emerged, and in a moment he was crawling out onto the twisted metal wreckage after him. Steve inched carefully along another railing, this one apparently more stable; trying to get close enough to pull him in. The railing in Bucky's hand creaked again, rattled loosely and started to shift.

"Grab my hand!"

Bucky strained as he felt the railing begin to give way, trying to reach the gloved hand just inches from his fingertips. He was nearly there when the bar suddenly detached, twisting loose with a metallic whine. Steve grabbed for him, but for once, he wasn't fast enough. Bucky slipped away and plummeted like a rock, screaming as he fell.

It was one hell of a way to go.


	14. Chapter 14

"_The process has already begun." _

_A dim gleam of light, shining off of metal where an arm should be. _

_Cold. _

_Nothing._

* * *

"What is your name?" The short, fat man in the round glasses was smiling at him in a way that should probably have been unsettling, jotting something down on a sheet of note paper. The man at the table wasn't very interested in what should or shouldn't unsettle him.

"Codename: Winter Soldier." He responded, tone flat - nearly monotone.

"What is your objective?" The fat man continued, marking this down as the light from a wheezy gas-lamp caught on the painted red star across from him.

"Obey orders. Terminate targets. Report for further orders." More rote memorization. He didn't really see the point, but then, nobody had asked him.

"Good, good." The fat man slipped his sheet of note paper into a file folder, underneath a few photographs of a man in American military dress, and a copy of a physical examination report. _**Winter Soldier Project**_ was printed in neat scarlet letters across the top of the folder.

"You are going to do great things for HYDRA, my friend. Great things for the _world._"

"Hail HYDRA." The Winter Soldier replied automatically.

A man in a black uniform and facemask appeared and handed The Soldier a different folder. It listed mission objectives, names, places, and times. Three photographs, three targets. Three bullets.

His eyes coldly scanned over the data as a sniper rifle was placed in his outstretched hand. He inspected it disinterestedly before slinging it across his back in a fluid, practiced motion. Two pistols received the same treatment. Backup weapons. An unnecessary precaution. The Winter Soldier did not make mistakes. He made corpses.

It was time to complete his mission.


End file.
